Oculus Of Tempestas
by Glass Wings
Summary: The reel of history is playing again with the Holocaust on the next strip. Only this time the mutants are in the crosshairs...


**Author's Notes**

Welcome all. First and foremost, we don't own the X-men. We own what's ours and nothing else, unfortunately. **Warnings:** This story is rated M for violence, adult language, and very possible lemons in future chapters. Also there will be some very light girl on girl interactions. If you're offended, don't read them. You know the drill. Please takes 15 seconds out of your day to review, it's very much appreciated. Anything else, Taurus deary?

Oh yes, all things in a different language will be translated for you at the end of the chapter in chorological order.

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**Prologue**

History has repeated itself numerous times, folding in on itself in more complicated patterns than we as humans could ever realize. Empires have risen and fallen by the same blueprints. Now is no exception and again a faction as much loathed as they were loved is rising again. The New Nazi Republic is on the rise with not non-Aryan people on its hit list, but instead, mutants.

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**Chapter I**

In the most recent murder...

The words rang in Mystique's head as she walked down the street, filling her with a calm unease. The whole city seemed to throb with it, the same paper clutched between the hands of people all around her. It had been two days since they had found the last body, and here was another one already. The boy, a mutant of twelve years old, had been found gutted in his home with a swastika painted on the wall with his blood. Two days before, a woman had been found murdered in the same fashion: a bullet to the head, execution style. Officially, no one knew of the New Nazi Republic, or the NNR, as it was being called. That was to say, anyone with political power didn't know. And after all, no one really gave a damn about mutants anyway.

Mystique crumpled the paper into a wad and tossed it in the nearest trashcan, pulling her coat a little tighter about her. Around her a sea of people churned, oblivious to anything that didn't happen at the tip of their collective noses. It was amazing how little they understood what a person really was. For as long as she looked like a normal person, no one was the wiser. No one was stopping her on the street to point her out to their children, to shy away, to actively get in her face and tell her what she'd done wrong.

As she rounded the corner, she felt it. That wiggly feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her something wasn't quite right. She ducked into an alley, and once she was sure no one was watching, transformed herself into a middle-aged woman with black hair and set back out on the street.Only the feeling didn't go away. She surreptitiously stole a glance behind her, and out of the corner of her eye, caught sight of someone with dark glasses on. Albeit, it was common in New York, something wasn't right with him. His face was too set. His stride too iron.

It was becoming like a bad movie. Her pace quickened and she glanced back increasingly often. It wasn't in her nature to be nervous or frightened, but she was in a crowded street. One loss of concentration on her part, and she would reveal herself, not only to her stalker, but to the people around her. And they wouldn't take too kindly to it. Might even help him. Better to avoid or at least get out in the open where she had a better chance.

The opportunity came when they emerged into a relatively quiet section of town populated by only a small army of homeless people who didn't give a shit about mutants. She turned, and sure enough, the man was standing behind her, gun trained at her forehead. And that was when she saw the swastika on his arm.

It was the last thing she saw.

When she woke again, she was tied firmly to a bench of some sort and in complete darkness. Only the steady jolting of wheels and the hum of road noise betrayed that she was in a truck. Occasionally someone, a group of someones, would shift around her, a rustling noise breaking the monotony. They were apparently in a vehicle large enough to be carrying a number of people, as the sounds were often and varied in location.

She adjusted herself a little, strained at the bonds. They were nylon rope and fairly thick too, enough that they wouldn't be broken by ordinary strength. She winced as they cut into her skin, but remained silent. It would do no good to have them know she was awake if they hadn't noticed already. She squinted in the darkness and could barely make out the silhouettes of some soldiers sitting on the low benches.

The truck bounced as they hit a large bump, sending several soldiers stumbling to their feet. It happened again with greater force, and suddenly Mystique wasn't sure it was the road's fault.

A third time and two tires blew out, sending the truck tilting wildly to the side and metal screeching against asphalt. The truck rocked to a halt and there was the chorus of guns being cocked. She closed her eyes and waited, listening. They exited the vehicle cautiously, but there was nothing to be seen other than two melted tires and the body of their driver. Whatever had done this hadn't hung around. Another soldier climbed in the cab and the rest slowly withdrew into the truck.

Thump.

Thump.

It was on the roof. The soldiers aimed at the roof and let off a volley of shots. Bits of steel and dust rained down in their heads and the truck shuddered. Once the deafening din was over, silence blanketed them, until...

Thump.

Thump.

The footsteps, unperturbed, continued over the top. The soldiers were reloading their guns when an explosion ripped off the corner of the truck. Several men were sent flying to the back of the truck, badly burned, while the remaining three opened fire on the two mutants peering through the hole. The black haired woman extended her hand and the bullets bounced harmlessly off an invisible shield.

The blonde giggled eerily and motioned to the shell casings, which exploded in a rain of sparks and flames, sending the remaining three soldiers scrambling out of the truck. Mystique struggled at the bonds again and it caught the blonde's eye. She elbowed the other woman and jumped down into the truck.

"Well well wellllll... Thees is Mystique, mm?" the blonde questioned, stepping over a body to examine Mystique's bonds.

"Yes, I am, and who are you?"

"Je suis Iris, and thees is Shinigami."

"Iris, cut the shit. Let's get going." Iris gave her a cross look, but leaned down and traced the outline of the rope as they quickly began to smolder and unwind. She helped Mystique to her feet and shot a glare at Shinigami.

Mystique got her bearings on her feet and shook her head to clear the fog in it. The floor swayed and dipped, and her head seemed to suddenly empty of anything substantial. One knee shuddered and threatened to give out. A pale hand slipped around her stomach and supported her.

"-e's... -en... -oisned..."

Everything went black.

The pounding in her head was slowly receding. Mystique opened her eyes and tilted her head to the right, thankful of the dimly-lit room. She was on a bed and covered in thick blankets, a ceiling fan slowly spinning overhead. Weak sunlight streamed in through the cobalt curtains, and faint voices floated up from downstairs.

The covers next to her shifted suddenly, and yawned. Exceedingly cutely. Mystique propped up on her elbows quickly and waited. Slowly a tousled, brown haired head peeked out from under the covers. Followed by a pale forehead and liquid brown eyes. A little girl, probably no more than ten, stared at Mystique, forehead wrinkled in concentration.

"You're Mystique." She smiled widely and crawled back under the covers.

" 'mone said you were stayin' here 'till you got better." She crawled right up next to Mystique and laid her head on her shoulder.

"You're a pretty colour." Mystique looked down at the little girl, who was staring back up at her.

"Do you always sleep in bed with strangers?" Mystique asked, and Emmy yawned.

" 'mone said you were okay. An' you're the only person in bed an' I don' like to sleep by myself." She snuggled up to Mystique. "You're warm," she murmured.

"Emmy! Where are you?" A female voice floated up from downstairs, rolling the r's lightly with a distinct Italian accent

"That's Simone," Emmy confided in a whisper as footsteps ascended the stairs.

"Emmy?" An auburn head poked into the room.

"Emmy, get out of there." Emmy giggled and dove under the covers, wiggling against Mystique's stomach. Simone placed her hands on her hips and sighed.

"I see you're awake. I'm Simone Basile, and you're in my house. I'm so sorry, we really have to get going. But I promise once we're back, we'll explain everything. You're among friends, Mystique."

"How can I be sure of that?" Simone frowned slightly and looked at her watch.

"You've been out for a day and a half. If we wanted you dead or otherwise maimed, we'd have done it by now. We're all mutants here anyway, except for Emmy. Il mio dio, quando sta andando essere aspetta?1 I am terribly sorry, we're going to be late for Mass." She looked around distractedly.

"How do you know my name?"

"Oh dear, um, goodness, Peter! For goodness sakes, hurry up! Iris told us." Outside the door there was a trample of feet and she gave a fleeting smile before slipping out the door.

"We'll be back soon! Just sit tight, and mind the stairs, you might still be a little unsteady. Peter!" She rushed down the hall, her heels clicking frantically. Emmy stared after her for a minute, then turned back to Mystique.

"S'too early to get up." She snuggled back under the covers and Mystique gingerly climbed from the bed and held a hand to her pounding head. The room swayed and she braced herself on the dresser. Emmy got out of bed and walked over, hugging Mystique's waist.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Emmy nodded and laid a head against her side.

"It'll be okay." Another black bead slipped through her fingers.

"Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, amen," Simone intoned quietly. Their deacon was ill with pneumonia and they were saying a rosary for him. Or rather, most of them were. In the very back pews sat Pyro, nonchalantly flipping his lighter open and shut as always, getting side glares from those praying nearby.

Perhaps the priest would not have spoken such words if he had known how rife his church was with mutants.

A few pews up sat the Kyle family, two of the three praying along their rosary as well. If all three were not quite devout Catholics, they were at least mutants. The eldest brother, Adam, snuck a glance at Ash, who was holding his rosary as if it were wilted lettuce. Ash was less interested in deacon Roger's soul as he was the water near the alter boys. There they stood, so serene, so calm.

So prissy. He slid down in the pew a little and took advantage of everyone's closed eyes to focus on the water. He slowly reached out with his mind and disturbed the water, causing a little to splash on one of the alter boys. The boy jumped and looked at his sleeve, glancing around surreptitiously before resuming his position. Ash grinned and sent a spray of water into the boy, who yelped and jumped away. The priest didn't miss a beat in the prayer, but opened one eye and glared. Adam didn't miss the scene or a bead on his rosary while elbowing Ash in the ribs.

"Cut it out. Now."

Outside stood Shinigami in various states of smoking, Shinigami leaned against the battered green car, smoking steady puffs on a cigarette. Iris was crouched on the ground causing little rocks to implode noisily.

"Cut that shit out Iris."

"Je ne tu reponds pas."2 Shinigami presented Iris with her middle finger while lighting another cigarette.

"Baka-yaro."3 Iris frowned and caused another rock to explode. Shinigami glared and flicked ashes on the blonde's head.

"You see the guy who went inside? The brunette? I've heard of him. Name's Pyro, he's a fire-starter. Maybe you two oughta fuck and make exploding babies." Iris laughed heartily and grinned, her good humour restored. She motioned discreetly to Magneto with her chin.

"Zat's Magneto, ma cherie. Your little sparkler is with him." Shinigami lazily arched a thin ebony eyebrow and blew a puff of smoke.

"This should prove exciting. Maybe if he causes a scene, she won't make us watch the car anymore." Iris carefully took the butt of the cigarette caressingly from Shinigami's lips, who watched as she immolated it into oblivion.

"Because if the church was threatened, we would have to help."

In the church everyone quietly put away their rosaries as the priest began the day's sermon in deep, bass tones. Simone held her Bible, still relatively new, on her lap and bent over it. The words rose, comforting reminders of why she continued to strive in this world. She straightened up, feeling the wooden pew back digging uncomfortably into her shoulder blades. In the back, Pyro leaned forward. Magneto had told him that the people who had Mystique were mutants. And they attended church here, according to whoever Mags was talking to. Apparently one blew things up, so maybe a little demonstration of his powers might get their attention.

They weren't doing much anyway, and Magneto had said he only wanted to see Pyro leaving the church with their target. He had to do something or else he'd be explaining to a towering, glowering Magneto. Not a fun thing. He smiled to himself. Mags had told him to do whatever he had to do to get them out in the open.

His eyes found the candles at the alter and an idea rapidly began to form. Looking around to make sure no one was watching him, he manipulated the flames. In the pews, people began to notice and a buzz rose up in the crowd as the flames in the candles grew brighter and brighter. Simone raised her eyes and saw too, hastily crossing herself. Fear rose up in her throat, but she hastily swallowed it. The priest glanced back and, and then again as the fire condensed into one stream of flame that roared around the priest's head. He ducked and the alter boys fled for cover near the basin of holy water as many ducked into their pews.

As the fire whooshed over Simone's head, she yelped and clutched her Bible. Suddenly that tight, tingling sensation spread down her arms and through her fingers. Before she could drop the book, it seemed to disappear. Across the aisle, an old woman saw and let out a screech. Hastily she crossed herself and then pointed a gnarled finger at a wide-eyed Simone, who was clutching air in fear.

"A demon! A demon in the house of God!" At that moment Pyro let the fire light on the floor and immediately it began to roar out of control. Simone gasped and stood as more of the congregation began to turn on her, heat blasting her in the face from the fire. Peter grabbed her protectively by the shoulders and forced her out of the pew and towards the door.

"Fretta. Dobbiamo andare. È uso, là non è niente essere fatto. Dobbiamo andare4," he murmured to her. She shook her head, tears stinging her eyelids as fire licked at her ankles. Not again...

Several rows down Sara Kyle stretched out her hands and began to mould the air around the flames. First it condensed into thick mist, then finally into water that doused the flames quickly, moving with the snaking flames just as fluidly as they. What sort of bastard thought he was going to get away with destroying their church? Not only sacrilege, but plain out waste and disrespect. Out of the corner of her eye, a fleeing movement caught her attention and she turned to see Pyro following the fleeing Basile siblings. She waved her arms to get the attention of her brothers and pointed to the retreating mutants before following them herself.

- - -

1- My God, when is he going to be ready?  
2- I do not answer to you.  
3- Asshole (or bastard)  
4- Hurry. We have to leave. It is no use, there is nothing to be done. We have to leave.

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Hoped you enjoyed! Comments and constructive criticism welcome, flames will be ignored or we'll see, haha. :D


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